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Blue-collar blues
PETER MASON sees a gripping reflection on the debilitating consequences of austerity and deindustrialisation in the US
Magnificent: Martha Plimpton in Sweat Pic: Johan Persson

Sweat
Donmar Warehouse, London

SOME years ago Lynn Nottage spent time embedded with blue-collar workers in the Pennsylvania town of Reading, gathering their thoughts and tapping into their experiences as she sought raw material for this play.

But Sweat — uncompromising and frequently disquieting — is not some kind of earnest social history. Instead, directed by Lynette Linton, it’s a tension-filled drama with a turbulent, consuming plot and a cast of highly engaging characters who demand attention from the off.

Although the overarching framework of Frankie Bradshaw’s brooding set — all rusting girders, old pipes and mildewed brick walls —  is rooted in industrial decline, most of the action takes place in the cosier surrounds of Mick’s Tavern, with a TV in the corner broadcasting news of impending economic doom under the presidency of George W Bush.

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